


if we could walk together (hand in hand, side by side)

by xerampelinae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Final Fantasy X Fusion, Bittersweet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerampelinae/pseuds/xerampelinae
Summary: The priests had said that Shiro would not live to a great age; they had marvelled that he had lived so long and so well so far, but the strength of his body would not last. The guns and monsters in Spira chose indiscriminately; for Shiro to die young would not be unusual, only for its root cause. But Keith--Keith was young andstrong,he was one of the best warriors among their people,hehad a chance to live to die an old man if only he could wait long enough for Shiro to follow through on his choice.-FFX au. Shiro becomes Bahamut's fayth, Keith Valefor's.





	if we could walk together (hand in hand, side by side)

“Something has to be done,” Shiro says, young face sharp with stress and concern. “ _I_ have to do something.”

Keith nods, quelling impassioned words to transform them into something constructive. “We will,” he promises. “What are you going to do?”

“I think,” Shiro says, letting his head tip back to seek the stars hidden behind the rising plumes of smoke, the city is still burning and they’re just far enough away not to choke on it, “if I put myself forward, put my will to it, I can be something that can be called forth. To fight, to protect.”

-

“You don’t have to do this,” Shiro says. “It can just be me, you don’t have to--”

“Shiro,” Keith says, soft but firm. “When has anyone ever been able to make me do something?”

For a long moment, Shiro stares at him, eyes shining. The priests had said that Shiro would not live to a great age; they had marvelled that he had lived so long and so well so far, but the strength of his body would not last. The guns and monsters in Spira chose indiscriminately; for Shiro to die young would not be unusual, only for its root cause. But Keith--Keith was young and _strong,_ he was one of the best warriors among their people, _he_ had a chance to live to die an old man if only he could wait long enough for Shiro to follow through on his choice.

“My cooking,” Shiro says instead.

“That doesn’t count,” Keith says, face softening into a rare smile. It cuts Shiro to the core. “Food is for survival.”

“The Holts would argue otherwise,” Shiro says helplessly. “For my cooking.”

“Then I guess I get to eat their share,” Keith says, and “I know what I’m doing, Shiro. Please let me help you with this.”

Shiro sighs, and the noise is tinted with saltwater. Their hands come instinctively together in a firm, warm clasp. Steadier than seems possible in these days of unending warfare, of fear that the enemy faction will turn Vegnagun’s muzzle towards their people, or the new and rising menace of Sin. “Even if we cannot speak. Even unto the end. Know that I think of you, and be well.”

Keith takes Shiro’s hand then, hand small but strong. “Even unto the end,” he promises, “I will dream of you too.”

-

“Will you wait?” Shiro asks, when they’ve bedded down for the night. “Until after I’ve finished the ritual, in case it goes wrong.”

“It won’t go wrong,” Keith says, hands curling into tight fists.

Gently, Shiro covers Keith’s hand with his own larger hand. There are only a few scattered years separating them, but Shiro’s had the time to come into his growth. “Please, Keith.”

“Alright,” Keith says, closing his eyes before they can fill and betray him.

-

Years before, Yu Yevon had called for the construction of temples throughout Spira. Yu Yevon has since gone into seclusion, wandering unknown through the land, but his temples lie empty enough for use. Shiro chooses the Bevelle temple.

“I don’t know what it will take,” Shiro says, at the threshold of the inner cloister with Keith wrapped close in his arms. “What it will sound like. What it will look like.”

“I’ll keep them all out,” Keith promises, wiry arms squeezing reassuringly around Shiro’s waist. “I won’t let them interrupt you.”

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro says. He presses a kiss to Keith’s crown and turns resolutely towards an open section of wall that almost feels like a seal, stripping to the waist. Silently Shiro begins to pray, and the temple opens its heart to him.

-

Keith feels the moment that the dreaming takes--a gasp in potential energy; the air stops humming--and finally turns from his watchful post. He recognizes the strength in Shiro’s broad shoulders, the summoned claws and helm, even the draconic wing and tail unfurling behind Shiro where he breeches the wall’s surface like a swimmer rising for air. He knows now that their objective has been completed and that Shiro will never turn to him again, smiling over his shoulder or touching Keith as he much as he can stand and want with hands that do not seek to hurt. The only thing left now is Shiro’s back as he puts himself and his will between those he protects and those that would harm them.

The only thing left is to figure out how to summon forth Shiro, to learn a shared strength. Keith kneels in the inner cloister and prays. When he finally rises, his legs are numb and he stumbles out of the temple; a new day is dawning overhead--the second since they’d entered--and the crowd ripples nervously as it watches.

“Please,” he whispers, and the heavens open up to release a broad-winged creature, body gunmetal in color but traced in burnt gold and violet. The claws are a yellow gold and sharp; at its back is a circle laid in yellow gold, exactly like the seal holding Shiro’s physical body in stasis. This is the heart of Shiro, and his will.

_I am Bahamut,_ Shiro says in a low tone that sends shivers down Keith’s spine. The crowd cheers, watching Shiro rise and fall through the air with powerful wingstrokes.

“I’ll see you soon, Shiro,” Keith promises, and lets the casting dissipate.

-

The Blades patiently stand sentry as Keith enters the inner cloister of the Besaid temple. Kolivan’s face is as soft as it can get, and his hand firm on Keith’s shoulder as they make their goodbyes. Whoever Keith’s mother was--and however Kolivan feels as an old soldier watching a young warrior set aside his future--there is nothing more to be done.

In the depths of the temple, the balmy warmth of the outside world is washed away with the cold that clings to stonework. Still, Keith isn’t uncomfortable as he strips his clothing to the waist and begins the ritual. As the seal closes around his body, Keith feels a pair of leathery wings spread out from his shoulders, arcing wide and protective.

_I am Valefor,_ Keith whispers when he is called forth. The Summoner stares up at with shining, hopeful eyes. They always do.

-

The Summoners come like waves chasing the tide: so many try, and so many fall on the road between temples, attempting to amass an army of aeons to face down the monstrous Sin that comes for the cities--not just those with machina, but the others as well--and buy a period of Calm for their people. They all fall, one way or another, and then fayth like Keith and Shiro dream restlessly as they wait.

Later, Zanarkand will fall and rise again, built from the minds of a thousand dreamers. This Dream Zanarkand is a bittersweet kindness, for the chance to see Shiro again and to know that they are only a soothing balm to a greater problem.

“We couldn’t have known,” Shiro says, sheltering Keith under his great wings. The feathers are a warm metal where the curve over Keith’s shoulders, and it feels so safe that Keith’s smaller, more vulnerable wings relax from their proud position. “The way that Yu Yevon grew distorted, or that Yunalesca Honerva would fall in with her father and sacrifice her husband to perpetuate his vision.”

“Did Zaon Zarkon want this?” Keith murmurs with idle curiosity, slipping himself under Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro pulls him closer still; there are other fayth like them, who went into the temples to reforge themselves into aeons. Maybe there shouldn’t be a difference between them and Zanarkand’s dreamers, but there is. They were all lead to this path, but Zanarkand was a city full of summoners before Yu Yevon shaped them to his will. There is a difference, if only Keith and Shiro can find it.

“He must have,” Shiro says, eyes soft and dark, “if only for love. You can’t become a fayth unwillingly.”

“I know,” Keith whispers. “I know.”

“Someday this dream will end,” Shiro promises, and presses a kiss to Keith’s crown.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from an unofficial translation of Suteki da Ne, "Wouldn’t it be nice/If we could walk together/Hand in hand, side by side/And I’d like to go/Back to your town/And to your home/Into your arms" are some of its utterly lovely lyrics.  
> This one is semi-inspired by the Zanarkand theme, which my buddy used to play way back when. And Shiro and Keith are 200% likely to sacrifice themselves to save people.  
> Find me on twitter @belovedbacon


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